<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Idol by AJendryke</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617989">The Idol</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJendryke/pseuds/AJendryke'>AJendryke</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Attollo (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, uhhhh lore dump, until its ready to be published ty ;;, will probably delete later but for now it stays up</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:42:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,354</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29617989</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJendryke/pseuds/AJendryke</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>To dance within the memories of a god is both a beautiful and heartbreaking experience. It allows one to taste divinity on their tongue, so long as they ignore the poison.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Idol</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A Sysba lore, as a gift &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There is no one in the community who can say, with absolute certainty, when It arrived. It was as though one day we all woke up in synchrony to find its great, twisted form looming over the temple-goers. Gone was the image of our patron god, replaced with one of an entity even the most educated of our priests could not discern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, there was an investigation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mages and scholars alike approached the statue to run their hands along its cold, marble surface. They documented each notch and crevice that carved out Its form and they had artists—the most skilled of the district—enter to map out the entity’s features so that we could look upon Its face in its entirety. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The outcome of this order was nothing short of atrocious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Idol, as It would come to be known, appeared as though a man who knew of a god only by word of mouth had tried to replicate its form. Six great wings extended from Its body; four outstretched to cover the temple walls, and two folded in to cover Its gaze, as though It deemed us unworthy to look upon. Eyes, which should have been on Its face, were instead interspersed between the feathers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their gaze held malice, only accentuated by the sheer amount that were present. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is a parasite, Malchus,” my mother hissed when asked about It, “It slithered out from whatever den It was sired in, and now calls our home Its own. It will uproot and consume us all by summer's end.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was not the only one with this belief. I had heard, when playing in the halls, the whispers of the clergy as they exchanged their thoughts and letters. The doors to the worship chamber were sealed until further notice—a first in over three decades—and any worship of our patron god was directed to take place within our own homes. The temple went from the heart of the community to a shell of its former self within a few days; my mother, a temple cleaner, now spent most of her time dusting away cobwebs rather than mud trekked in by weary travellers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Our entire manner of living was usurped by the arrival of this one, singular Idol, and I? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could not see with my eyes. What the Idol’s body looked like was of little concern to me. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Against my mothers predictions, it took several years before any changes began, and they did so when Phameus collapsed outside of the worship chamber. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I remember hearing the sound of his body hitting the floor, his choking breaths and twitching limbs making contact with stone. The temple healer, a man by the name of Adon, had dragged him out of the halls and into the healing chambers mere meters away. I had been listening from the shadows up until the moment that the healing chamber doors shut, when I then crept forward until I hovered just outside their wooden forms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I only managed to capture brief snippets of the conversation within—unknown, brain, incense—all of which came from Adon himself. Growing bored with the discussion, I had moved to draw away from the doors and back to my own chambers when a new, unexpected voice broke the reverie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was familiar with Phameus. He was a soft-spoken man, the same age as I, and the youngest to join the clergy, and he had a stutter that had been prevalent his entire life ever since he was a child. The voice within the room belonged to neither him nor Adon; it did not stutter, it was not soft. It sounded as though multiple people sought to speak at once, with no discernable gender to be pried from the mix, uttering words in a tongue I could not comprehend. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It spoke only a few words before the healing chamber doors were forced open and Adon himself fell through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I could not see him, but I could hear his shock. I could hear the way his nails scraped along the stone and how they accompanied the whimpering cries that split from his throat. I pressed my body back against the wall as the smell of sweat and something more—something </span>
  <em>
    <span>toxic</span>
  </em>
  <span>—flooded from the open room. Adon barely registered my presence, but when he did, I was given no acknowledgement before he clambered to his feet and bolted down the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I was left standing in silence. The voices had ceased, and when I tilted my head towards the healing chamber, trying to hear any evidence of another presence, the silence only continued to prevail. If Phameus had been inside with Adon at any point, he was not there anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you,” my mother had moaned when I recounted the events to her later that night. “I told you! It is a parasite! Not only has It infected our home, but now It parades through our community with the mask of our clergyman on Its unholy face!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I did not respond, choosing to busy myself with dinner instead. In my mind, I replayed that voice, the different pitches and timbres Its words had carried. I had only been able to make out a few, brief snippets before Adon shattered the moment; </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Y' ephainafl ah mgepr'luh.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To the clergy, perhaps they held significance. But to a temple cleaner's son such as myself, they were as meaningful as the dirt that gets swept away. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Another year passed before It spoke again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We of the temple came to the agreement that whatever had happened to Phameus was tied to The Idol, which still stood silent and neglected, in the sealed off worship chambers. Explaining it to the community—especially Phameus’ father—had proven a fruitless effort. The community responded to our claims with threats of violence upon the temple; they were willing to rip the wood apart with their bare hands if it meant that whatever resided behind those doors would be exorcised back to the sow that sired It. The Head Priest, a towering, bitter man, had taken on his most placating tone and ensured the community that he and the others would deal with the situation as swiftly as they could. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They didn’t anticipate The Idol to have ideas of Its own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The voice, which I had heard a year prior, now came back through the mouth of Jezebel, another temple cleaner like my mother and I, who was born into unfortunate circumstances. She was a timid girl who spent most of her days slouched over cleaning rags, and when she wasn’t doing that, she hid in the shadows instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We were all taken aback when she stumbled into the meeting chamber during the morning. I knew right away when that fragrance returned—that horrible, toxic smell—what had happened to her. Jezebel was no longer silent. She broke through the doors wailing like a flock of demons were pursuing her, tearing at her clothes and her flesh with every step she took.  A sickening, dripping noise filled the chamber, and with each droplet that hit the stone the toxic scent only grew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We didn’t speak. Jezebel did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pious fathers,” she whimpered, her voice that strange cacophony of tones that sung in my mind for many nights, “do you keep me locked away to stave off your misfortune? Or perhaps my arrival was too abrupt for your adjustment?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A heavy silence had descended on the hall as we waited for Jezebel to continue. I was sure she was smiling—perhaps at all of us, perhaps at the Head Priest, or perhaps at me in specific. It must have known that I was one of two who bore witness to It before.  I, like a lamb facing a wolf, shrunk behind the Head Priest’s form in search of comfort, the scent of incense my only guide to reassure me it was him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come, father. Let me share my thoughts with you like all the others have. Let me give you answers to your questions, from the mouth of the plague itself.” There was a smile in her voice, but it sounded broken, and disjointed, and terribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The Head Priest descended from his podium at her call and although I, of lesser stature, gripped onto his hands and his robes in a bid to stop him, he shrugged me off as though I were a mere pest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The others watched them vanish into the worship chambers together. All I could do was listen. My hands wrung together with anxiety, not for the wellbeing of the Head Priest, but for the answers being spoken behind those doors that we continued to remain unprivy too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is where my role in this tale first began. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>Time passed since that reckoning in the meeting chambers. Jezebel, much like Phameus, vanished shortly thereafter; all that was left of her presence was a filthy rag, haphazardly shoved aside in the corner of her room. As forgettable as she was until the day she finally spoke. The Head Priest had returned to us in silence. He refused to entertain anyone for several hours, and when he finally did emerge from his rooms, he granted us merely a taste of the bitter fruit he had consumed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We were not to speak the name of our patron god any further. All icons, altars, and idols of his presence were to be removed henceforth. I remember the outcry of the community, and I remember the Head Priest's comments; it was under jurisdiction that these actions were taking place. Remove the patron god, or we would gradually begin to see a reduction in our community numbers. The Idol had already claimed two; Jezebel and Phameus both had shrines in their honour buried in the back of the community, forgotten only until they were in need of cleaning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Losing a child was the worst punishment to face, and no one wanted to endure what their families had. The loss of a child meant a broken branch in the family lineage, and this was something that could never be repaired. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So a pyre was built. A great, roaring flame that seemed to laugh as it crackled, bellowing out ashes that recounted the history of our community. It was the body of the god, I remember thinking, being sent back to the heavens where he resided. We had sacrificed our protector in return for a false messiah, and were now nothing but pariahs to our own beliefs. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>“I think I know Its name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sidon’s voice breaks me from my memories and I twist in confusion. He’s around twenty three years, the same age as I, but he retains the boyish attitude of his youth. His hair is a chaos of curls, which I know of only from having to wash it so many times, and he stands out against the dreariness of the temple as my own private source of comfort. Even now, the devious tone he carries is foreign to the place we stand in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” I ask, allowing only a bit of uncertainty to creep into my voice. “Whose name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sidon barely hesitates as he turns me towards where, many years earlier, our Head Priest had come to his final conclusions. Life has drawn to an ebb and flow since this was determined. We, as temple cleaners, now spend most of our time wiping away the black slime that seems to seep from the very foundations. The toxic scent that filled the air around Jezebel now resides permanently in the halls. Even those who pass the worship chamber doors fall out of their conversations and into a fearful silence, as if convinced that even breathing in that direction will curse them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truthfully, it might. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The Idol. It is not truly a god, you know,” he hums, tapping my right wrist as he does so, a quirk he does when speaking to ensure I continue to listen. “Eitan says that he saw It crawling back beneath the statue's feet. Since when do gods crawl on the ground like men?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sidon’s words sit heavily in my mind as I carefully ring out the rag in my hand. The studies that he and I had listened in on growing up made clear the differences between ourselves and our patron god; his divinity prevented him from stepping onto the earth that we reside on, for doing so would taint his  heavenly form. To hear that The Idol we now worship to preserve our lives crawls beneath the floorboards like a common rat sits uncomfortably in my mind. I drop the rag down into the bucket and turn my head towards where I know Sidon stands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean to do with this knowledge?” I muse, wiping my hands on my pants, “It would be good to remember that Eitan is not the most honest of us. He smuggles extra bread rolls underneath his shirt nearly every night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A scoff is the only response I receive, followed by the thump of Sidon dropping his own rag. I bet his hands must be as black as the night after our cleaning. I know mine surely are. “That is why I told you. I want you to come with me to find out ourselves just how honest Eitan’s words are. If they are false, then we have nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And if they are true?” I shake my head. “Sidon, you and I have both heard of the consequences inflicted upon those who enter the worship chamber. The miasma, the night terrors, </span>
  <em>
    <span>those </span>
  </em>
  <span>are real. Eitan’s words may be false, but what those people endure daily is certainly not!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I turn away to make it clear that the discussion is over, but I’m stopped in my tracks when Sidon wraps his hand around my right wrist. His grasp is warm and comforting and I know, before he even speaks, that I will bend to what he says. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One night. Only a few moments. We sneak in through the servant entrances, we check The Idol, and then we leave before anyone suspects a thing.” His thumb caresses the inside of my wrist, and I bite down on my lip. “Please?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stand facing away from him, caught between my morals and my affections for the man holding my wrist. It isn’t a hard choice to make; I, like my mother, wear my heart on my sleeve. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” I sigh, closing my eyes in resignation. “One night.” </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The air feels static as I wait for Sidon to come. I had spent the entire day meticulously rearranging my chambers in order to keep my mind off of things, only to find myself falling back into rumination with each shift of furniture I made. I was fortunate enough that, before the chambers were closed, my mother had been the individual assigned to clean by our patron god’s feet. I grew up within those chamber walls, basking in the scent of incense and sage while the faint sounds of my mother’s broom sweeping across the stone floor filled the air. I wonder how different it will be for Sidon and I when we go in there tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wonder if it’s worth the sacrifice of those memories?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My answer is given to me by a quiet rapping of knuckles on my door. I get up from my position on the bed and crack open the door enough so that I can capture the scent—dirt and miasma—of my dear friend. He presses a single finger to my lips to indicate my silence before grasping my wrist. I give him a nod of acknowledgement and slip out of the room, closing the door behind me as softly as I can. As soon as I’m standing out in the hall with him, Sidon turns on his heels and sets off at a brisk pace, hardly waiting for me to collect myself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sidon!” I hiss under my breath, dogging after him like some child following their parents’ steps. “Sidon, slow down!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whether he heard me or not I’ll never know, because as soon as we round the corner Sidon comes to an abrupt stop, causing me to almost collide into his back. I don’t need to ask him the reason for his pause. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this. This didn’t make sense. My room was at least a twenty minutes down the hall from this chamber. I knew this because I had specifically chosen the farthest room from the chamber that I could possibly afford; I didn’t want the darkened energy that seemed to hover around the entrance creeping its way into my room at night. I already had horrible visions of unseen hands wrapping themselves around my throat, of a body pressing against mine until I cannot move, of eyes like predators watching me from all corners, always </span>
  <em>
    <span>watching</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I didn’t need them to get worse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sidon,” I begin again, reaching out to touch his arm, but he jerks out of my reach. He doesn’t even deign me a response as he moves past the worship chamber doors and towards a side-hall where the servants entrance resides. I stand, rooted in my position with uncertainty. All of the anxieties that I tried so hard to repress before this moment are now blooming in my chest and dancing their way through my veins, blurring my thoughts and quickening my breaths as I hear Sidon’s footsteps disappear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This is wrong. In fact, this is not just wrong, it’s downright sacrilegious. We shouldn’t be trying to deduce the divinity of whatever resides within this chamber; we should be trying to exorcise It, like the community wants. Instead of the lambs cowering behind our shepherd, Sidon is turning us into the lambs prancing right into the wolf’s den. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can’t let him do this alone though. If I let him go in there and become a sacrificial offering to whatever, god or not, slumbers beneath that Idol’s feet, then I would loathe my very existence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So I force my feet to move. I force myself to take step after step, and follow Sidon into the shadows. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>The chamber is exactly how I remember it from years before. The scent of incense hangs faintly in the air, and there’s a certain warmth that pulls me into an unseen embrace. It reminds me of the stories of our patron god I grew up on; of his kindness, of his love. The floors of marble still cause my footsteps to echo out, bouncing off of the towering ceiling I know hangs above us, and I can’t help but stretch my arms upwards. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only difference is The Idol. I know that It sits there, watching me relive my childhood joy. Six wings. Hundreds of eyes. A great, looming body that stretches out to us. The only difference now is the dripping sound I hear, a sound that brings me back to Jezebel’s reckoning. It’s the black liquid that we’ve been cleaning from the temple foundations for months, flowing from The Idol’s mouth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come,” Sidon murmurs, his voice an unexpected surprise after his prolonged silence. “The entrance is at the feet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did Eitan tell you this?” I ask, following along after him. Sidon offers no response, but something tells me that he’s smiling. As I approach The Idol’s base, I note that the toxic scent seems stronger here than anywhere else, to the point that I’m swaying with the emotions I feel. I clench my jaw as I follow after Sidon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eitan, for once, was truthful. As soon as Sidon and I reach the final step, I feel a gust of cold, bitter wind brush along my cheeks, a sensation that I shouldn’t be feeling in an enclosed room. A soft swear escapes from my lips as I drink in its touch. Sidon still says nothing. Instead, I hear him approach the entrance, his hand pressing against The Idol’s base with a soft thump. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s go,” is all he says as he moves further from where I stand. My mind draws a blank and I find myself unable to say any words of protest before his footsteps vanish once more. We had agreed to confirm that the creature crawled on our grounds; we had not agreed to go hunting after It like fools. I hesitate again, torn between what I know is right and what my loyalty to my friend says. Once again, the decision is easily made. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I, too, approach the hole and, taking a deep breath, I follow my friend into the abyss. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>There is a room beneath The Idol’s feet. It’s a cavern, so vast that I find it hard to determine its actual size. The sound of water hitting something solid echoes through the air, and the scent of decay hangs heavy around us. I stumble a few times as I follow after Sidon’s rapid steps. He’s moving so quickly that I soon find myself out of breath and I’m forced to press my hand against one of the walls. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I feel a wetness on my skin. Even as I pull away, I know it isn’t water. I flex my hands into fists and try not to think about this as I follow after the sound of Sidon’s steps. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How long do you intend to keep us down here?” I murmur as we make another turn. We’ve turned so many times now that I’ve lost count—surely we’re just walking in one great circle? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just a bit further,” Sidon replies, increasing his pace once more. My brow furrows in concern as I continue to trail after him. My mother’s voice is ringing through my mind right now, scolding me for all the irresponsible decisions I’ve ever made, and how this one surely is the greatest. I trust Sidon with my life, yes, but that doesn’t mean I wish to lose it any time soon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I only know he’s stopped when I bump into his back once more. He’s unnaturally still, even for Sidon’s standards, and I reach out to press a hand against his arm by reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you see?” I ask. He is my only eyes at this moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stars.” He steps forward and I follow after him, ever trailing. We must’ve entered another room because the walls seem farther apart than before; there’s a cool breeze brushing against my cheeks again, carrying that heady, toxic scent on its back. I push forward to stand beside Sidon rather than behind, and my feet come to a stop at the edge of what seems to be a drop. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A cavern, perhaps? A chasm? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe this is the entrance to the Underworld our priests have so desperately sought?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sidon,” I murmur again, “Where do you see the stars?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everywhere.” Sidon’s hand comes down to grasp my arm. “They are everywhere, Malchus. Dots of light, swirling around our heads, beckoning for us to fall into their embrace. They create patterns and tell stories of the people who live before us. They are burning so brightly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His finger taps my wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My </span>
  <em>
    <span>left </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrist.</span>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This means they are close to their end, no?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My stomach drops lower than the chasm we stand against as I let his words sink in. I cannot see with my eyes. Despite this, I should have asked the others, I should have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>concerned </span>
  </em>
  <span>with The Idol’s appearance. Phameus, Jezebel. My mother said once that It paraded through our community with the mask of a clergyman on Its unholy face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It seems to have traded that for the mask of my friend instead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You have been watching me for many years, have you not?” The Idol sighs, continuing to tap my wrong wrist. I don’t move against Its advances. It would be foolish of me to do so, so close to a drop like this. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The lamb has reached the wolf's jaw.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span> “We have been visiting each other in our dreams since the moment you stood outside of that healing chamber, have we not?” It laughs, Sidon's voice now substituted for a deeper, smoother tone. I shiver against my better judgement. "Although you still have yet to see me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Something I am grateful for." This is all I can offer. My loss of sight has granted me a blessing in that it's spared me from seeing The Idol’s grotesque form every night. There's a tutting noise as It moves closer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Not good!" It sighs, hot breath fanning over my face. "Do you know I was once called the most beautiful of the Old Ones? I used to have others, both mortal and divine, kneeling at my feet, begging me to grace their bedchambers each night. I was the source of wars, of betrayals, of events that shaped the very history you exist for!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a horrible spitting noise as The Idol pulls back. When It leans close again, It smells of the toxic fragrance that parades the entire chamber. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sweet Helen of Troy was a mere trinket compared to me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then why are you here?" Death seems unavoidable to me at this point. Even if The Idol lets me go, I have no knowledge on how to return to the surface. No one knows that I'm here. I will walk forever until I finally collapse, and Sidon… </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sidon has likely met the same fate as Jezebel and Phameus. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"If you are so desired by man and god alike, why do you spend your nights crawling along a temple floor like a common cockroach?" I flinch as The Idol’s grip tightens. "This behavior seems unfitting for someone who puts Sweet Helen to shame, no?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your sharp tongue exists to balance out your lack of eyes," The Idol hisses, pressing closer to me still. "No human would dare speak to me in such a manner. Little dream walker, I have killed for far </span>
  <em>
    <span>less.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Then why am I still here?" The question rises in my mind like the morning sun, burning out the shadows that colluded my thoughts ever since I entered this domain. If The Idol has killed for less, why does it allow me to remain? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Why have you not consumed me like you did Phameus, or Jezebel? Like Sidon, or the innumerable community members that came before them? Why lure me here?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Idol remains silent against my line of questioning. It's only when the words begin to die on my tongue and the last traces of my voice carry out to the darkness that It moves. I'm pushed back as It steps in front of me, blocking me from the chasm below. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It's tall. I can visualize Its six wings and innumerable eyes in my mind, the horrible descriptions the community members provided me as vivid as a summer's day. My breath catches in my throat as It leans closer, </span>
  <em>
    <span>closer, </span>
  </em>
  <span>until Its unseen mouth is inches from my own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It will </span>
  <em>
    <span>consume me. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You wanted someone to hear you," I breath out, my breath mingling with Its own. "That is all you ever wanted. That is why you wore the face of the community, why you attached yourself to Phameus, why you made Jezebel run through those doors. That is why you wore the face of Sidon to lure me down here. I am the only one who has </span>
  <em>
    <span>heard </span>
  </em>
  <span>you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There's a moment of silence, and then a low, rumbling sound emanates from The Idol. It grows and grows in volume until laughter fills the chamber, greater than the performance of a thousand men. My hands come up to cover my ears and The Idol captures them in Its own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You humans love to make yourselves the central characters, do you not? Every event always needs to tie back to you somehow. It never fails to amuse me." I feel The Idol run Its thumb along my wrist. They feel like human hands still, as warm and as comforting as Sidon's were. The thought of this parasite still wearing his face makes my stomach roll. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"However, I am not laughing at you this time." A sigh, one that sounds as though it carries the weight of a thousand years, escapes from It. "I am laughing at myself. Your lack of sight has forced me to dance into your mind, little dream walker. You paid me attention when no one else would. I suppose this has made me </span>
  <em>
    <span>pliant.</span>
  </em>
  <span>"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pliant?" I'm unsure if I like that response or not, but The Idol gives me no chance to decide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I want to let you see," The Idol whispers, Its lips ghosting across my own, "And if you watch with me, I swear by my word I shall let your community be."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I inhale sharply at this. The Idol could be lying for all I know; Head Priest did tell us that demons enjoy speaking honeyed-promises to lure unwitting men and women into their embraces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But this can save my mother. This can save my community. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I, </span>
  </em>
  <span>alone, can ensure that no Jezebel, no Phameus, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sidon, </span>
  </em>
  <span>ever occurs again. Saying no to something like this, even if it drips from the lips of a liar, would be signing a death sentence for thousands.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, I nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a sharp pressure as It connects Its mouth to my own. I move to pull away, to escape from Its embrace, but my limbs raise a protest against my mind. I feel my body tumbling to the floor, and before I can react, the darkness I know is replaced with the darkness of sleep. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>I'm in a room, lying in a bed of silk and satin, blanketed by a ceiling of stars. They shift and flow like gentle waves, as though a nebulous sea is above me. When I stare around the room, I realize I'm not the only one present. Others reside in the corners and the floors; some look like myself, some remain an amalgamation of wings, eyes, and teeth, bejeweled and wrapped in velvet and silk. The air smells bitter, like sex and sacrilege, and heady gasps fill the silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My eyes dart frantically, drinking in every colour and shape I have missed in my twenty three years of life. Lost in the sensory overload, I only become stabilized when my gaze settles on the figure who resides beside me on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unruly dark hair, marked pale skin, and inky black eyes that are both empty and as vibrant as the stars above. They catch my gaze, and their kiss-swollen pink lips spread into a smile that gives both promises and damnations at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I want to let you see." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I drown in the darkness once more. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>I’m in a chamber. I think it must be similar to how I always imagined the worship chamber, but it lacks the warmth and comfort that the home of my patron god once held. It’s a cold, unforgiving environment in here, with its distance only emphasized by the darkness that engulfs the room. The nebulous stars that drifted above my head now dance all around me, comprising the walls and the ceilings with their shifting, effervescent forms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Idol is beside me. I was true in my predictions—six great wings spread out, two that cover Its eyes and four that expand Its presence. Hundreds of eyes lazily watch myself and the other occupants of the room as though we’re providing It with sparse entertainment. It wears a robe, and a crown of stars above Its head that accompany a horned halo. Its hands are still that of a man’s, though, and they reach out to grasp my hand as a man's would. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Watch,” is all It directs, and I oblige. There are others in this room with us, but I cannot discern their forms like I could the bedchamber. The Idol whispers to me about every single one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is a grey presence in the corner, which seeps malevolence and despair as It hovers just above the floor. The Idol leans close. “Devourer in the Mist, born of the Old One’s bile and tears.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another is a tall, slender man who seems to carry himself in similar gait to a Lord, broken only by the smile on his face. The Idol clicks Its tongue. “The Stalker among the Stars. He has a strange affinity for your kind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A third that I turn my attention to is nothing but an essence of mist, hovering between the stars that encircle the room. The Idol notices I watch It, and a bitter laugh escapes from Its throat. “Father, The Mad God of the Void. He consumes the stars.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shudder races through my body. I feel as though It’s watching me, despite the lack of eyes, and I force myself to turn away. The Idol provides no better comfort; It watches me with a too-wide mouth, hosting an array of sharp teeth within that are decorated with the black slime I have spent so many years cleaning. It looks amused at my misery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And what are you?” I finally ask, “Which of this pantheon of horrors are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Idol doesn’t reply. It simply continues to watch me with a smile, right up to the moment that darkness clouds my vision once more. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>When I wake again, I’m in agony. It runs through my veins like a sedative and morphs all my thoughts into terrible blurs. A shattered gasp slips through my lips as I press my blackened hands—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Blackened hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I stare down at them in silent confusion. These are not my hands. I have never seen my hands before, but I have had the same ones for twenty three years, long enough to become accustomed to their feeling. My nails are not the talons of a predator. My skin has never been stained with the black slime I clean. I have no place for black, molten feathers to fall from, yet they surround me like a blanket of my own design. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I taste rot on my tongue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My body moves on its own accord and forces me to raise my head, to look at the product of my actions. Stars dot the ceiling above me—they dot every ceiling I have seen on this hellish journey—illuminating the body that lies prone on the bed, its shadowy form far more still than what I saw in that chamber. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sight, the toxic smell, the heat that seems to oppress the entire room, causes me to double over and retch. Black slime slides from my tongue and hits the floor and I stare at it in a numb shock, unsure of how to process it. The agony in my body continues to throb; my neck, my chest, my stomach, my…</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you understand?” The Idols voice breaks through my panic-driven thoughts. I cannot see It in the darkness, but I hear It as though It's standing right in front of me. “The oppressed always prevail, little dream walker. The harder you try to stop something from happening, the higher its chances of failure become. I tasted sweet autonomy when I lived on your Earth—when I danced with your kings, when I caused your cities to crumble, when I consumed the flesh of your mothers and your sons—and I never wanted to lose that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hands touch my neck, my chest, my stomach, everywhere that I ache. I feel The Idol’s form loom over me. “So I had to take it back. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Y' ah 'ymnar, gnaiigof'n ot ngyr-korath. Y' ah mg nyth'drn ot shuggoth ngnah r'luhhor.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know what else It whispers in my ears that night. When the shadows come again to carry me out of this memory, I welcome them as salvation. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>I don’t know at what point I end and The Idol begins. We become entangled in the past, It and I, like two lost stars seeking refuge in each other's company. We are so bright in our moments that we burn out, only to be born again in the next scenario. Our hands fumble to lock in a vice-like grip, both of us afraid of losing and both of us too proud to admit it. I let It consume me in return for a taste of Its life; a deal that, although consequential, holds benefits for us both.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>We are only in the past for a moment but these moments weave a thousand years of emotions into my heart. I see It rise amongst the Old Ones—as beautiful and loved as It claimed to be—and I see the moment that It fell from grace. I feel Its despair as It wakes in my world, as It travels from village to village, trying to discover the pathway back to the stars. I feel Its hunger, Its desperation, so powerful that tears prick my eyes. I feel Its desire, Its pain, and I do my best to soothe it all. I cannot change the past, but I can control the narrative. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Idol is my eyes, so I become Its heart. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It allows me to press my hand over every scar and wound It so carefully conceals beneath the guise of confidence and allure. It wears a mask of a thousand faces—each one different from the next—but despite the disguise each new mask brings, the face underneath never changes. I reach out to trace my fingers around the edges. I want to lift that mask so I could see the name of the parasite that wraps itself around me. It does not move, even as I begin to reveal the smooth flesh of the chin underneath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s only when I get to Its lips, kiss-swollen and dripping black, does It call for the darkness once more. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>I open my eyes to nothing. The pressure of The Idol’s lips against my own is the only tell that I am, in fact, back in the chamber. I taste toxin and rot on Its tongue, which swirls within my mouth as though seeking to consume me. I let it. I don’t move or respond until The Idol finally pulls away. I don’t speak at this point. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What does one say after living a thousand times over? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you enjoy the sights? Did they answer all that you wish to know?” It asks, another breathless whisper in the night. I mull over my answer carefully; I have never seen before, and the sights that I bore witness to—despite the terrors they contained—sit heavily in my mind. I know that I’ll replay them to myself for years to come, because they are the first and the last things I’ll ever see in this lifetime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One question remains unaddressed, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which of that pantheon of horrors </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> you?” I make one change to the original question, because it finally occurs to me that I worded it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Idol no longer </span>
  <em>
    <span>is; </span>
  </em>
  <span>The Idol </span>
  <em>
    <span>was, </span>
  </em>
  <span>which is why It never deigned me with a response the first time. I am met with a silence, a long, exhausting silence, before The Idol finally laughs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It’s the laugh that a dog would give before tearing out a rabbit's throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thousands of secrets revealed, and you still pine for the one that I did not give?” It asks, tracing a hand along my cheek. Its touch feels like blades digging into my flesh. “I should cut out your tongue for the audacity alone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I wait for It to continue. I know It isn’t done, yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But you have been pliant with me, little dream walker. You have weathered yourself through an Old One’s tale, danced with me when I requested, and I suppose that is grounds enough for a reward.” The Idol rests Its chin upon my shoulder, and I hear the smile in Its voice. “I will tell you, and then I will depart, and you will never speak word of what happened here tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No words come out of my mouth in response. If this is the deal It wishes to make, who am I to protest? The Idol, sensing my willingness, tilts Its head so Its lips are pressed against my ear. I pause in my thoughts as I feel something soft brush against my arm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Feathers. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have had thousands of faces and thousands of names for the many years I have lived among you. Ezekiel, Zerachiel, Melmoth, Sariel, Sysba,” I feel It smile again, and something wraps itself around me. It’s warm and comforting, like a lover's embrace, and the soft texture of feathers now surround my body. “But you, Malchus. You may call me ‘Ymnar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as the words slip from Its mouth, I feel a terrible pressure rise up in my chest. A thousand eyes are watching me from the shadows, scrutinizing my every movement and breath. I feel claws and wings wrap tighter around me as though they’re afraid to let me go. That terrible, toxic scent grows in intensity, and my hands begin to dig into the darkness in front of me in a bid to make my escape, to make </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>escape. Agony throbs through my body, </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, nothing at all. I am floating, like a star in a nebulous galaxy, set in a direction it knows not itself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I can only welcome the free-fall when it finally comes. </span>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <span>There is no one in the community who can say, with absolute certainty, when It arrived. It was as though one day we all woke up in synchrony to find Its great, twisted form looming over the temple-goers. Gone was the image of our patron god, replaced with one of an entity even the most educated of our priests could not discern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There is, however, one person who can say, with absolute certainty, when It left. When I awaken to the warmth of sunlight upon my face, I am alone. The Idol, which had grown to become a staple in our lives, is gone, as though It had never existed to begin with.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Naturally, there’s an investigation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I am asked over and over again what occurred the night Sidon disappeared. I can give no answer. I sit, mute and numb, listening to the priests argue from the next room over. Mages and scholars alike throw out theories, all which are refuted. With no leads, the chaos soon eventually fades away. We all simply wish to move on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>My mother and I both relinquish our positions as temple cleaners and elect to settle into a quieter life. I fall into an occupation of a story-teller; my elaborate tales of entities in the stars, of a Devourer in the Mist and a Mad God of the Void, draw in enough crowds that I can retain a stable income. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the wake of The Idol, The Head Priest cleanses and blesses the worship chamber, but when I ask about the chamber beneath the floors, I am met with nothing but confusion. The black slime ceases appearing from the foundations. No more funeral altars are built for missing children of the community. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Life drifts back to how it was. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Except for my dreams. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although it's far rarer now, sometimes there are moments in the night in which I believe It—</span>
  <em>
    <span>’Ymnar</span>
  </em>
  <span>—to be near. The faint smell of rot, a soft pressure of a hand on my chest, the sensation of feathers brushing along my skin. In my dreams I see a thousand eyes peering at me from above—’Ymnar’s own mockery of the galaxies It can never return to. They stare at me in unblinking silence until I, inevitably, raise my arms to embrace them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>I don’t shy away from It anymore. I have lost the point where I end and ‘Ymnar begins. Even thousands of miles away, we are still as entangled as we were in Its memories. It shows me things, things that I will never experience again in this life, and so I welcome It back each night that It comes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite my better judgement, ‘Ymnar has become my eyes, and so I remain Its heart. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>